


Familiar

by incredulousanteater



Series: Familiar [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: AU, Familiar Crowley, Familiars, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Human Aziraphale, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of alcohol, Nightmares, Snake Crowley, Sort Of, Witch Aziraphale, Witches, Witches and Familiars AU, also soulmate au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 08:05:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19330483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incredulousanteater/pseuds/incredulousanteater
Summary: “Surely you’ve been expecting me? Noticed the magical incidents?”“No! Well…no,” Aziraphale finally said. Then, “Maybe the tea?”“There’s one!” Crowley exclaimed with a snap of his fingers as if Aziraphale was a contestant in a game show and he’d just guessed a question correctly. “Congratulations, you’re a witch, I’m your familiar, blah, blah.”





	Familiar

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my latest bit of garbage! Typically I’m not one for aus, but... Inspired by the idea that familiar spirits are often said to be demons and a challenge over on the Good Omens amino.

Aziraphale certainly had a comfortable existence. He’d achieved his dream of owning a bookshop, and he was thriving despite his reluctance to actually _sell_ any of his books. Yes, life was good. But he couldn’t help but to feel a twinge of longing whenever he spent time in the section dedicated to witchcraft and familiars. Some people had the gift, and some just…didn’t. He’d always been fascinated by it, and, not too long ago, had studied it extensively. Familiars especially intrigued him. They appeared (no one knew quite where _from_ ) as a witch began to grow into their power to guide and protect them. Many people believed them to be, or likened them, to soulmates, or as close as you could get, due to the bond a familiar and a witch shared. The two could sense the other’s emotions to an extent, were tied together in unimaginable ways. Aziraphale had perhaps imagined a few times what that would be like. All right, more than a few. But only witches had familiars, and he was as far from that as he could be, so he just had to accept things as they were. Although there was still time. There wasn’t a set age for witches to find their power. 

It started as mundane things. Aziraphale was reaching for his half-drunk cup of tea, which was, by now, lukewarm, and wishing it was still hot. He swallowed some. And nearly spat it over the book he was reading, which would’ve been an awful shame. The tea was piping hot, steam curling off the surface gently and dissipating into the air. Aziraphale gaped at it. He must’ve…misjudged the temperature, was all. The occurrence repeated itself several times, with cocoa he assumed had gone cold long ago, and another mug of tea he mistook for empty, suddenly brimming full and nearly boiling. Each time he cursed what must be a declining memory. Then a book which had been missing all week showed up, right in front of his nose, settled on a bookshelf he was _certain_ he’d checked, multiple times. Again, must’ve been overlooked. Easy thing to overlook, right?

On a gloomy Saturday evening, the little bell hung above the door whose purpose was to alert him to customers tinkled cheerily. Aziraphale marked the page he was on carefully before hurrying towards the front, making a mental note to close after this customer was dealt with. Then he’d have all night to finish his book. “Sorry about the delay, I—”

“It’s alright.” The new customer was not a regular of the shop. He leaned against a sturdy bookshelf, his body language exuding a casual boredom, or, at least, attempting to. The dark-haired man was a little _too_ stiff, and he was dressed in black, with the blasphemous addition of sunglasses on _indoors._

Something told Aziraphale he wasn’t here to buy books. 

“How can I help you, Mr….?” 

“Crowley,” the strange customer said, flashing a smile and striding forward, offering his hand. Aziraphale shook it somewhat hesitantly. An odd feeling flooded him at the contact, like a wave of anxiety. Which on its own wasn’t odd in the slightest, but now it was…different. Muted, and he had the distinct impression it wasn’t _his._

“Nice to make your acquaintance,” Aziraphale replied, wondering what the stranger wanted. “We’re about to close, though…”

“Ah.” 

“You’re welcome to come back Monday,” he reassured, after taking note of the customer’s downcast expression, as well as hinting strongly that it was high time he left. 

The customer, Crowley, took a step back, surveying the bookshelves that surrounded them. With a shrug, he answered, “I must say, this really isn’t what I expected.” 

“What did you _expect?”_ Aziraphale asked, who couldn’t help but to feel a bit offended at this point. All he wanted was to get back to his reading. 

“A warmer welcome from my lifelong partner, for one,” Crowley replied, raising his eyebrows at Aziraphale’s less-than-thrilled look, and slipping the sunglasses off. Underneath, his eyes were yellow, with black slits for pupils that scrutinized Aziraphale with quiet bemusement. 

“No, no, there’s a mistake, I’m— _you’re a familiar_?” Aziraphale spluttered, mind whirling. Everything was going too fast for his liking. 

“ _Your_ familiar,” Crowley corrected, with a tilt of his head and a little smirk. “Surely you’ve been expecting me? Noticed the magical incidents?” 

“No! Well…no,” he finally said. Then, “Maybe the tea?” 

“There’s one!” Crowley exclaimed with a snap of his fingers as if Aziraphale was a contestant in a game show and he’d just guessed a question correctly. “Congratulations, you’re a witch, I’m your familiar, blah, blah.” 

“Erm,” he still wasn’t sure what to do with this new information.

“Look,” Crowley said, glancing at his watch. “Do you have the evening free?” 

Aziraphale mentioned he had some reading to occupy him, but Crowley had laughed him off and dragged him to the nearest diner of Aziraphale’s choice. There he’d proceeded to explain things in finer detail over coffee and crepes, as well as having to swear over and over that no, this wasn’t a prank. Afterwards Crowley had, of course, followed him back to the bookshop, which doubled as Aziraphale’s place of residence; he had a bedroom on the second floor. The familiar had no problem making himself right at home, slouching across the couch in the back room like it was his and insisting that Aziraphale get some sleep instead of reading late into the night as he usually did. 

—

“Magic can be tricky—especially if you’re nervous,” Crowley said, rather pointedly, as Aziraphale glared at his empty teacup. He picked up his own, which had inexplicably transformed into a glass of wine. 

“It’s not even past lunchtime yet,” Aziraphale scolded halfheartedly, knowing Crowley wouldn’t listen. 

True to the prediction, he merely shrugged and sipped from the glass. “Do something about it, then.” 

Aziraphale had been unable to make anything magical happen since Crowley had arrived, although the familiar maintained that he was simply trying too hard. _“Like breathing. Just remember how it was when you used it before…didn’t even realize you’d done it, did you?”_

A soft huff from Crowley drew his attention, and Aziraphale beamed as he realized that the glass he’d held was nowhere to be seen. Crowley scowled at him, but he could feel a fond sense of pride through the bond that belied the familiar’s expression. 

Slowly, Aziraphale became more adept at using his magical abilities, and more used to Crowley’s presence. He wasn’t quite what he expected his familiar would be like…but it wasn’t an _unwelcome_ surprise. Crowley seemed to view sleeping as a hobby, and he didn’t have a sense of personal space, and he brought a few plants into the bookshop. More than a few, actually. They crowded the windowsills for the most part, soaking up sunlight and sprawling lushly out of their pots. Really, how many did he _need_? Aziraphale had put a voice to the thought one day as the familiar walked in carrying yet another African violet. Crowley had bristled and shot back, asking how many books Aziraphale needed. “ _Well, this_ is _a bookshop, my dear_ ,” had been his answer. 

Still, it was difficult, and he couldn’t make things happen, especially when he needed them the most. A particular incident that stood out in his mind was that time the two of them were more than a few drinks past sober and he’d spilled a glass of wine over an open book. “Oh,” he sighed, aware that the book was past saving and attempting mop the wine up. 

“It’sss not a problem. Just…d—make it disappear,” Crowley said. Aziraphale tried to. He really, really did. But the thought of the poor book being unsalvageable or him accidentally making the book disappear as well… “Too upset about the book. You’re thinking about it too much,” Crowley cut in helpfully. Aziraphale gazed back at the familiar, losing himself in those slitted eyes and clinging to the waves of calm contentment from his side of the bond like a lifeline. “You…you’re not thinking about it enough now,” Crowley finally broke the long silence, cheeks pink under the influence of alcohol. Probably. 

The book was still sitting in a puddle of wine, and Aziraphale gave a groan of frustration, resigned to the fact that it was ruined. “It’s no use. I can’t…” 

Crowley waved his hand, and the stain disappeared. “There, angel. Fixed it.” 

“Oh, thank you, C—angel?” 

“Well, ‘cause…you’re…” The bond shook with the familiar’s flustered attempts of explanation. “You call me _my dear_ all the time, what’s wrong with it?” 

“Nothing, my dear.” 

 

Aziraphale hadn’t asked, but he was curious as to what animal form Crowley took. Every familiar could switch between the two, although some favored one or the other. Maybe that was the case with him. And his eyes were a good indicator of what he was. Maybe a cat. He certainly slept like one, but for some reason it didn’t really seem…him. No, a snake fit much better. As if Crowley could read Aziraphale’s thoughts, he was answered early the next morning. The familiar wasn’t anywhere to be seen, but he ventured out often, and there weren’t any signs of distress coming through the bond, so Aziraphale wasn’t worried. 

He _was_ worried, though, when a lump that _anyone_ would’ve thought was a cushion stretched out an onyx head, tongue flickering to make sense of its surroundings. The sleek scales were all jet-black with the exception of its red underbelly. “Crowley?” His heartbeat slowed considerably as he met the golden eyes he knew so well. The snake uncurled himself and slithered onto Aziraphale’s lap without invitation, warm amusement thrumming through the bond. “Well,” he murmured, stroking Crowley’s smooth scales gently. “Don’t know why you took so long to show me this form. It’s rather stunning.” Then, as an afterthought, he added, “And you can’t talk like this, so I suppose that’s a bonus.” 

—

It came as quite a shock the first time he felt fear through the bond. Aziraphale had experienced all number of emotions from Crowley, and maybe he’d felt a bit of trepidation before, when someone had walked into the bookshop and asked to _pet_ Crowley, who’d been coiled happily on Aziraphale’s shoulders (Aziraphale had found this was the only way to keep him out of the way, as otherwise the snake would lounge wherever it seemed the biggest inconvenience to him), and that one night in the park when he’d glared distrustfully at a barn owl for no reason. But this was…different. It was _real_ terror, strong and visceral. 

Aziraphale nearly collapsed under the weight of his relief when he dashed into the back room to find Crowley asleep on the couch. He’d been so certain something _awful_ was happening to his familiar. But it was peaceful as could be, the room comfortably dim, books littered over the coffee table and armchair, joined by a couple empty teacups. Except for Crowley, who twitched in his sleep, a troubled look upon his face, and Aziraphale shuddered as another wave of panic swept over the bond. A nightmare. 

He shook the familiar gingerly, murmuring, “Crowley,” to wake him. It worked, and Crowley jolted upright with a gasp. His serpentine eyes darted back and forth frantically for a moment before he relaxed, slumping back into the couch with a sigh. “‘Zira,” he acknowledged tiredly. 

“Sorry, I…you were having—”

“It’s alright,” Crowley muttered quickly. 

“What…what was it about?” Aziraphale asked. “If you don’t mind my asking.” 

“Oh, it’s nothing,” he said, running his fingers over the seams of the couch cushions absently. “Just some bad memories. Wasn’t always enjoying the comforts of my own bookshop.” He looked up, offering a teasing smile that Aziraphale could tell was forced. 

“What was…before like?” He didn’t really expect an answer. Crowley was always closed off about his past life. 

The familiar was silent, until, “We’re kind of like humans, y’know. Not everyone has a witch. Just…live there our whole life.” 

“Oh.” Aziraphale averted his eyes, focus finding an interesting spot on the floor. “Do you miss it, then?” He didn’t know where _it_ was, but he was fairly sure it wasn’t on Earth. Another dimension, maybe. 

“Home? Oh, no,” Crowley scoffed, “Never. They didn’t have alcohol there.” He took Aziraphale’s hand, grinning widely. “Or you, angel.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Always love comments and kudos!


End file.
